


A Touching Moment of Realism (the Singer-Sargent Remix)

by missmollyetc



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mondays at the Center for Regional and Ethnic Studies have never been so worthwhile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Touching Moment of Realism (the Singer-Sargent Remix)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for mrsronweasley, in admiration of her speedy and meaningfully described translation, which saved the author a great deal of confusion and fruitless searching.

Frank had a desk. It wasn't a very big desk, and it was smack dab in front of a large bay of windows so that the students could find him no matter how hard he tried to hide behind his computer screen, but it was _his_ desk, and he was just the temporary classified staff. Some of the faculty here had been desk-sharing for years, it looked like.

Frank reached up, and adjusted his monitor until the sunlight wasn't blinding him quite as much. Outside his windows, a student was smoking, leaning up against the glass and blowing smoke up into the intake valve. In about three seconds, the program coordinator was going to make him yell at her until she stopped 'stinking up the air,' but until then Frank enjoyed the free show and the secondhand nicotine fix.

The flicker of a GChat window popping up on his screen broke his concentration.

 _Hey, Creeper,_ it read. _"Why don't you try not staring at the freshman like you're trying to figure out how to lure her into your van?_

Frank wrinkled his nose. Jamia. She had the desk behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw her pretending to read a Personal Services Contract, half-obscured by Gerard, as he bent over to point something out in Jamia's file, leaning his dark head against hers. Frank licked his lips, and swallowed.

 _Who you calling a creeper, perv?_ Frank typed back. _And tell Gerard to stop looking down your blouse._

There was muffled squeak behind him, and Frank giggled under his breath.

 _What if I like him down my blouse?_ Jamia typed back.

Frank blinked. The phone rang. "Center for Regional and Ethnic Studies," he answered automatically, staring at his computer screen. "Yes, he's here, I'll transfer you now."

Frank hung up the phone, still staring, and hovered one hand above his keyboard. He tightened his right hand on the phone until the plastic creaked.

 _Frank?,_ Jamia typed. _What if I wanted everyone down my blouse?_

Frank swallowed. Behind him, he could hear Jamia and Gerard shifting around, fidgeting, clearly waiting for a response, but all Frank could focus on was the blinking cursor on his monitor, and how very, very hot it had suddenly gotten. He...felt his chest grow tight, and inhaled in a rush.

 _Gerard says he wants to paint us,_ Jamia typed. _He says we make him want to do nothing but portraits._

He touched his keyboard lightly. He exhaled, and breath inward again. _Is that like showing us his etchings?_ he wrote back. _Because I have some candy in my van._

Gerard's high-pitched giggle reached Frank's ear a second before Jamia's warm laugh wrapped around his throat.

 _After work then?,_ she typed. _We can all be creepy together._


End file.
